


The Queen's Indian/Fool's Mate

by JoelOS



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/F, One Shot, Post-Reaper War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 21:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoelOS/pseuds/JoelOS
Summary: The war against the Reapers has ended. As Sam Traynor walks down the aisle for the denouement, she reminisces about how her relationship with Shepard came to be.





	The Queen's Indian/Fool's Mate

 

 _Of course_ any ceremony involving _the great Commander Shepard_ wouldn’t be private. There were too many people seated on the benches in the large hall, mostly humans, but all Citadel races were represented in some form, from the humanlike asari to the massive elcor, and despite the fact that the devastating war against the Reapers had only just ended, there was little happiness among the present. They had all survived, and they had all lost someone close. Perhaps the generals and those higher up in the hierarchy, seated in the front rows, were largely better off in that regard, but they also had the chaos of the aftermath waiting for them – there were bound to be countless investigations and trials to determine who had acted correctly or against orders, as well as simply deciding who had done what and what kind of reward or punishment they deserved. Sam couldn’t, as much as she wanted to, get distracted by such thoughts. She was much too nervous about making a mess of herself in front of all these people. Especially on a day she knew would etch itself in her memory forever.

There was some support there among all the strangers though: She would be escorted to the altar by her friends from the Normandy. Garrus was on her right, Joker hobbling along on her left, the rest somewhere behind her.

Up ahead, on the altar, she could see Shepard’s face, seemingly devoid of all colour. Sam had been surprised to discover Shepard could indeed get nervous like regular humans.

Though the surroundings were rather sterile there were some dashes of colour. There was a red carpet beneath her, although not the smooth kind that she would have liked. This one was coarse, designed for military boots rather than high heels. The end of each bench featured white and blue flowers, Sam couldn’t tell what kind. Whoever had organised this hadn’t even bothered to get roses. Daylight shone in through to the large, arched windows in the ceiling.

She clutched her own single rose in her right hand and began walking down the aisle in step with the slow tones of traditional music that had just begun playing. The mass of bodies reacted to the sound and rose from the white benches, and, as one, turned to examine her and the others. Sam took small steps forward. They were looking at her, she realised: A woman that was close to _the great Commander Shepard_. Most of the people in the crowd had probably only seen a brief interview with the Commander. Alliance public relations regulations - propaganda, really - dictated that any major reports had to be relayed second hand. This had the unintended effect of cultivating the myth of the Commander. For all they knew or thought they know, most of these people had no idea who the person behind the rank really was.

Why did _they_ have to be here? Sam hadn’t wanted to make a big thing of this event; she would have preferred a smaller, more intimate gathering, maybe outdoors, beneath a large oak, just a few people invited. But then again, she was just a lowly communications specialist, to whom ironically no one listened. Her words held little sway when the apex of The Alliance got involved: Anything concerning Shepard had to be utilised for propaganda purposes, and although the Alliance certainly would never admit to it, it was obvious that to them, Shepard’s personal interests were feather-light compared to what they decided humanity as a whole needed. As if the concept of humanity couldn’t be compromised by how a single person was treated. All of a sudden, they had seemed a lot like Cerberus to Sam.

None of them _knew_ Shepard. The Alliance’s leaders, the people in the crowd here today, none but a select few among the Normandy’s crew beside her truly did. And of them, Sam was the only one Shepard had really let in, she figured. She had seen the Commander without the armour.

People on both sides of the aisle were unabashedly staring at her with inquisitiveness, murmuring what she assumed were questions or assertions about her identity. Some among the Normandy’s crew were more recognisable than others, apparently. Sam was currently circling somewhere in between annoyance and embarrassment, and hoping her facial expression revealed neither.

Although perhaps it was only fitting. The first time she met Commander Shepard, Sam had been a wide-eyed mess, stuttering and generally incoherent. And as far as she could remember, the two dominating emotions of the encounter had been just those: Embarrassment, and annoyance.

 

***

 

They were never even supposed to meet. Sam had been in the right place at exactly the wrong time, a lab-rat assessing and improving the Normandy after its return to Alliance hands. It was one of the most challenging projects she had ever been a part of. Their entire team had been at it for months, adjusting just about every screw and bolt inside and outside the ship. The Alliance had officially viewed it as if Cerberus had commandeered one of their vessels, and although it wasn’t technically true, it was sufficient reason to legally confiscate Cerberus tech and go through it thoroughly. With the original design having been jointly pioneered by human and turian engineers, The Alliance needed turian aid to help ‘sanitise’ and restore the ship from Cerberus’ care, as well as outfit it with some upgrades.

Initially, there had been some hesitance among her and her colleagues regarding the turians – even nearly three decades after the First Contact War, humans and turians remained wary of each other – but forced by their respective superiors to work together around the clock, the teams eventually began to overcome their suspicion of the other species.

That didn’t mean that their labour lacked friction or cultural clashes. There were some quite heated arguments, one time even escalating into an old fashioned brawl between a human and a turian which resulted in heavy penalties and suspensions for those involved (and an injured human who, for all his brains, hadn’t considered the consequences of boxing an opponent with a carapace). Fortunately for Sam, there were no such occurrences within her unit. Instead, they had gotten along just fine, and Sam had a feeling this was because they were all in one way or another specialised in communication. She felt that the other engineers, whether human or turian, lacked the ability or desire to see past the technical field they were specialised in, be it weapon calibration or engine modification or whatever else there was, and thus all considered themselves to be working on _The Project’s Most Important Thing_ , meaning they saw everything else as basically pointless and a waste of time. The comm crew, as her small group of five – three humans, two turians – had named themselves, at least understood that performing well on this task could open many doors for all of them in the future. The fact that the ship was intended to be a mobile command centre for Admiral Anderson meant that the ship needed bleeding edge quantum entanglement communication equipment, which in turn meant that there was such a thing as _The Most Important Thing_ , and that this task actually lay with those of the comm crew. Sam felt that it spoke volumes of her colleagues’ confidence that none felt the need to voice that particular piece of information out loud. That, and a reluctance to get into fistfights.

During a particularly long and tedious session that was spent making the final frequency calibrations, she had started to explain extinct human means of communication to the turians in her group, which turned out to interest them greatly. The humans had all been warned beforehand that sharing possibly sensitive information would entail harsh consequences, but she felt safe enough in divulging the history of Morse code and floriography. Surely, even by the strictest Alliance regulations those methods could be considered outdated in the 23rd century. Fittingly enough, she had just ended a long explanation of an old myth about the human emergency signal, SOS, when the Reapers hit Earth. There hadn’t even been time for all of the real crew to get on the ship – the Normandy had been forced to take off from the dock almost immediately, fearing the Reapers would target their location directly. All of the turians and nearly all humans had been ordered off the ship, but for some reason, Sam had been made to stay. The pilot, Flight Lieutenant Jeff ’Joker’ Moreau, who had been fed up with being planetside for so long, was the first one on station and would have taken off while people were still disembarking the ship if it hadn’t been physically locked down in the dry dock. Later, Sam learned how he had to be physically torn from the first Normandy while its hull was blasted apart.

After escaping the assault on Earth and completing their brief stop at Mars, they set course for the edge of the Sol system

Organising everything had been a nightmare. Getting a new ship to run smoothly with a new crew while trying to stay out of harm’s way in an orbital siege wasn’t exactly simple, but Joker had seen them to safety, despite moaning like a twelve-year-old about it. Not until they had passed the moon’s orbit did they dare to relax. But only for a moment: When the immediate danger had been evaded, they needed to make sure everyone were familiar with their roles, they were still on high alert.

There had been a quick descent to Mars, which had ended in another hurried escape, but no one bothered to fill Sam in on the details. Instead, she had been sent to brief the Commander on the changes made to the vessel and its crew by The Alliance and their turian counterparts. For some reason, Admiral Anderson had decided to stay on Earth, instead opting to reinstate Shepard as Commander of the Normandy.

Unintentionally, Sam had stumbled into a heated argument between the Commander and her ‘close ally’ Liara T’Soni. Perhaps feeling slightly embarrassed for being caught in the situation, and definitely cross at Sam for interrupting, Liara had stalked off, leaving unresolved whatever issue they had been discussing. The glacial glance she received from the asari as she passed made Sam shiver.

The term ‘close ally’ had been used by the galactic relations people when they recounted the success of the first human Spectre to the population, as a means of appeasing the asari for the murder of Matriarch Benezia. Later, some Alliance staff had adopted that wording when they gossiped about how Shepard and the asari researcher were apparently _much_ closer than allies. Though she didn’t believe much of it herself, that juicy piece of gossip was the only thing Sam’s brain had been feeding her as Liara brushed past her, barely acknowledging her presence.

Which left her face to face with an annoyed Commander Shepard.

Red hair was a trait that seemed to have become much rarer since human space exploration had begun, as the people of Earth started mixing their genes more freely in space. And though it was not entirely uncommon for people to dye, keeping a chosen colour for any amount of time was an expense of time, money and logistics that soldiers simply couldn’t afford. The only trait that was more unique was green eyes, another recessive trait that seemed to be the cost of spacefaring.

The Commander had both.

Her hair was neck-length, an asymmetrical frame of copper that completely covered her right ear but was tucked behind the left. The upper lip protruded ever so slightly and the corners of her mouth were more diagonal than horizontal, creating an expression of displeasure that might or might not have been constant. But she had light skin, much fairer than Sam’s own, and cheeks dotted with cute freckles that travelled a route across her nose that Sam definitely wouldn’t mind taking. And she had the most astonishingly green eyes, a fern that glittered in corridor lights and irritation.

Sam had noticed that she was staring, and probably gaping a fair bit too, and the moment she realised that she was in fact in the presence of a superior officer, she had quickly scrambled to a belated, rigid salute. She was convinced she would be chastised for her poor conduct by the Commander – technically, _her_ Commander, now that they had left Earth behind – but Shepard had simply taken a second and recomposed herself.

Something Sam didn’t manage during their entire encounter.

Instead, she had begun to awkwardly ramble about how she ended up on the Normandy and apologise for her lab background until she had been sternly interrupted and ordered to give a status report. Sam’s face had flushed in embarrassment. It was evident the Commander had no time for nonsense. Sam had somehow managed to give a quick briefing on most of the new functionalities of the Normandy. Only, in the process, she was made to look even more of a fool after discovering the ship’s Virtual Intelligence was really a self-aware Artificial Intelligence, and having it, right there in front of the Commander, spill the beans on some less-than-appropriate comments she’d made about the attractive qualities of said AI’s voice during the retrofitting.

It had only been a joke, for goodness sake.

Mostly.

Once dismissed, she had felt so thoroughly embarrassed that she’d completely forgotten about the Reaper invasion for a full hour, which she had spent in the women’s bathroom, fretting about how she had managed to ogle both her direct superior officer and an on-board _computer program_ and kept wondering whether they would throw her off on the last recon station near Pluto. They would probably leave her there before going through the Mass Relay to the Citadel. Just like poor old Pluto, she’d be included in an exclusive community only a short time before being deemed unworthy and unceremoniously kicked out.

Her panicked stay in the restroom did not pass by unnoticed, but the other crew members figured it was due to her being forced to leave her burning home behind. Apparently, all new recruits did it at one point. Really though, leaving Earth was not that hard on Sam, especially as it had been under bombardment. No, it had been a relief. Most of the crew were unaware she was really a colony kid like them. She had only been schooled at Oxford thanks to Alliance grants. Grants that her service aboard the Normandy would come to repay at a rate at least to a power greater than any of her R&D work ever could have.

 

***

 

At remembering the petty worries she had once felt burdened by, Sam gave a weak smile, which was timely, as she at the same time felt the vidcams zooming in on her from around the large room. She kept walking forward slowly.

At the time, she hadn’t realized that, as part of the retrofitting team, she was worth her weight in eezo aboard the Normandy, and after being called up to the CIC, she had been constantly kept busy as part of the communications team. For a moment she was out of sync with the music and the others, and had to focus on keeping herself moving. Right foot. Pause. Left foot. Pause. Step by step, they proceeded down the aisle. Sam tried to keep her eyes still and ignore the people on her sides looking at her. Despite maintaining her outward smile, she was growing increasingly nervous being at everyone’s centre of attention.

She had always been afraid of making a fool of herself in front of other people, a trait which did not go too well together with her tendency of making a fool of herself in front of other people. This was part of the reason she had loved working in a lab, stored away in isolation.

Each step she took compounded the swirl of emotions inside, and though she was still keeping insulated, she knew it would only take a minuscule amount of it reaching her exterior for it to burst the dams of her tear canals entirely.

Right now, there was nothing she feared more.

Shooting a glance at Garrus on her right, Sam for a second wished she were turian. Having a mostly immobile face would have been incredibly helpful at this point. Garrus was a long-time friend of Shepard, and had always been friendly towards Sam. He was one of the first to know. And he had only been happy for them. Right now though, she could see no emotion in his face. He seemed the ice-cold killer he sounded like out in the field. Maybe the turians in the crowd knew better. She knew turians considered humans’ flexible faces strange. She wondered if the other alien races cried, too.

 

***

 

Sam’s heart was thrashing in her chest. This was wrong. Grissom Academy had sent an urgent call for help, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, so far as one could claim the Reaper invasion wasn’t out of the ordinary. No, the problem was a different one, but Sam felt reluctant to bring it up with the Commander. After all, Shepard was only busy _rallying forces to repeal the Reapers threatening all life in the galaxy_. Sam still mentally slapped herself whenever she remembered that she had brought up her lack of a proper toothbrush when the Commander had asked how she was settling in aboard the Normandy. Sam’s colleagues had found it hilarious, though. Safe to say, her feelings regarding the possibility of bothering the Commander again could at best be described as ‘conflicted’.

With Alliance ships spread thin, a turian vessel had responded to the Academy’s call for help. She had been friendlier than most with the turians she had worked with, but they had all been lowly engineers and scientists. Sam knew turian leaders had never really forgiven humanity for the, from a turian perspective, economically and prestigiously costly First Contact War. And for a turian ship to just happen to be relatively close, respond so quickly and offer its help so willingly made Sam suspicious. Especially after what her previous turian colleagues had revealed about the ‘generosity’ of their military leaders, even towards their own kind.

As she examined the turian response signal more closely, she noticed some oddities and that made her more and more confident that she was on to something. Something she could offer the Commander, and hopefully end the continuous chain of blunders she was forging on with. But then EDI, the velvet-voiced not-a-VI had screwed it all up. Or saved her skin, depending on how generous one felt. She had taken an interest in Sam’s repeated examinations, and taken it upon herself to go one step further. And _of course_ she had found the answer almost immediately: A comparison with data stored in her own data archive revealed a Cerberus ship posing as a turian craft.

Sam knew she would have to tell the Commander, somehow. But EDI had been reluctant to acknowledge her part in this little project, instead simply going mute and not responding to any of Sam’s request, and that made her even more nervous. The Commander had worked with Cerberus in the past, how would she react to a simple Comm Specialist accusing the organisation of a possible planned kidnapping - or worse! - when she was doing her damnedest to convince the other species of uniting and aiding humanity? That's probably why EDI didn’t want to be the one to say it. Better to let Sam antagonise the Commander again. Besides, Shepard likely knew everything any outsider could ever know about Cerberus given her history with the organisation. That’s why the Alliance had wanted to prosecute her, wasn’t it? And besides, they had more important things to deal with than looking after a _school_. After all, Cerberus had a reputation for looking out for humanity’s interest in whatever way they deemed adequate, even – or maybe especially – at the expense of other species. The academy only housed humans. Surely Cerberus would help evacuate the remaining students and staff before the Reapers arrived? Wouldn’t they?

But then why would they disguise themselves as a turian ship?

As she had been having this internal debate, Shepard had approached her and ordered an update, and Sam had been a horrible snitch; she had given it all away and done her very best to implicate EDI as well. Astonishingly, the Commander hadn’t immediately berated her for it. It was almost as surprising when EDI then complimented Sam’s instincts for having initially investigated it all.

“Maybe you do belong here after all,” the Commander had said with a twitch in the corner of her mouth that Sam hadn’t been able to interpret. Was she being sincere or sarcastic and mocking?  Sam had cursed inwardly. Why couldn’t military people be in any way straightforward? She could never keep her face in check the way soldiers seemingly always could. Under Shepard’s scrutiny, Sam had felt a pressing need to add something, to at least give her facial muscles a task to perform before they incriminated her. Before she started staring, again.

“If it does belong to Cerberus, it could be worth investigating.” The Commander didn’t show a reaction. Shit, more soldier face. To her, no response meant no data to draw conclusions. Maybe the Commander was just hiding her annoyance, or worse, anger. Shepard was simply observing her, as if expecting more. This wasn’t the science lab she knew inside out, this was high-stakes military business, and in the military, you followed orders. Take no initiatives without authorization, even Comm Specialist Samantha Traynor knew that. Better backtrack: “But then,” she blurted, “it could also be simple disinformation-“

“Traynor,” Shepard interrupted, stopping her rambling before it began, and emphasising both syllables, added: “Good catch.” Then she’d promptly turned around and marched off towards the helm off the ship, but not before Sam caught what she decided definitely had to be a smile. A short flash of a smile, but a smile nonetheless. It looked… _mischievous_ ? She heard her call out to Joker over the comms. They were changing course immediately: Direction, the Petrus Nebula. The academy. Was the Commander really _that_ into dangerous propositions?

If they got blown up now, it would all be Sam’s fault.

 

***

 

A piano joined the slow but melodious hymn of the woodwinds. Someone had decided that everyone who was formally a part of the Alliance had to wear uniforms, for some unfathomable reason. Sam had gotten used to her uniform, but it was definitely not her first choice for an occasion such as this. How thoughtful of the Alliance, insisting on broadcasting it all far and wide, and telling her she couldn’t even wear something nice. Or normal. None of the advantages of camo-patterns were really applicable during social ceremonies. Even her white lab coat would have been more appropriate. Actually, that would have been quite nice. Leave the uniform to Shepard.

Sam had been comfortably hidden away in a laboratory for most of her life, and despite some honestly quite interesting conversations with the journalist Allers about the different manners and proper functions of mass relay mass communication, she had never had any desire to, for any amount of time, take the woman’s place in the spotlight. And yet she had been thrust right into it now. She could feel the vidcams by the altar up ahead adjusting their lenses to focus on her specifically as she approached them, step by step. That bloody Allers had to be around here somewhere too with her stupid recorder. She’d never miss a story like this. There wouldn’t _be_ another story like this in her lifetime. Now that the war had ended, this was the symbolic peak of everything that had transpired during the war. And a chance to mend some of the wounds that had been created. But Allers, with her previous chats with the Commander, sure had a unique take on this, and would undoubtedly put herself in front of the lens while reporting. How those she reported on felt about it mattered little to the unscrupulous journalist. The only person who had been able to embargo her had been Shepard. The embedded reporter hadn’t been happy about it, of course, but now it seemed she would finally get her payback.

The thought of Allers enjoying this moment made a surge of anger boil up within Sam, and it gave her a firmer step as she approached the front row of seats. There, she saw the first face she recognized in the crowd: Admiral Hackett, looking important with all his decorations, standing alongside other presumably equally important figures, none of whom Sam could identify. Everyone stood to gain from being seen here, obviously. Everyone but Sam. They all looked much too serious for it to be personal. Her nails were digging into her palms. _They_ were just using this moment, Shepard, and by extension, Sam. Her mouth hardened into a straight line. At least she wasn’t crying and making a fool of herself in front of them. She wouldn't give them that satisfaction.

 

***

 

It was getting personal. Sam looked over her shoulder, despite the fact that no one else was in the cabin, then turned back again. The screen illuminated her face in the darkness. Her fingers drummed the edge of the table nervously. She still wasn’t certain it wasn’t just all her imagination. Shepard had come to rely heavily on her to handle all communications from the many different parties they were negotiating with. It had also become Sam’s duty to organise and update the Normandy’s data surrounding the entire war effort. Who was in, what they could offer, where they should go, it all went through Sam. Even if she didn’t have a say in any of it, it made her feel important. Valued, even. Shepard had begun to stop by her station more often as of late, requesting reports and commending her work, sometimes even lingering by her post and engaging in what Sam under other circumstances would have called chitchat.  But then the Commander would be off the ship in a hurry, rescuing someone important or settling a negotiation with her mere presence, the comm specialist all but forgotten. Sam felt as if she was in danger whenever Shepard disembarked. And experienced an ever increasing pang of relief each time she saw that redhead return.

What made it worse was that it felt like the stern and steely commander had been warming up to her. Or was Sam’s imagination only toying with her? Maybe it simply was because she had finally stopped with the silly blunders.

For better or worse, she was adapting to military life.

Shepard had even asked about how Sam ended up in the Alliance and on the Normandy – but that hardly made her unique, the Commander often looked in on, and conversed, with many of the crew members. She had, however, gone so far as to divulge some information about herself as well: Sam didn't know whether or not she was joking or not when Shepard explained how she had grown up an orphan on the streets of a megatropolis on Earth (it turned out to be true, EDI confirmed it). Somehow, her dry sense of humour made Sam laugh despite herself, and each time she felt increasingly unprofessional.

And Shepard had inquired about other things regarding Sam as well, things unrelated to Sam’s career.

Were these messages monitored? Sam looked over her shoulder again and shot a glance at the door. It was a silly thing to do, but the instinct was deeply rooted. She returned to the orange glow of the screen in front of her. It was past midnight according to shifts – maintaining a day and night-cycle in space helped keep the crew organised, but also from going insane in the constant black of space.

It hadn’t saved Sam though. Shepard was untouchable, but she was just a comm specialist. A glorified secretary, in essence. She was a jumped-up lab-rat in the the right place at exactly the wrong time. And now she was making the mistake of a lifetime. No simulated day-and-night cycle in the galaxy could help her. No, she was definitely insane.

Her mind returned to the screen and she shook the thoughts from her head before typing the final part of the message.

 

 

> _With Love,_
> 
> _Sam_

 

She read it through again, correcting some spelling errors. Normally she wouldn’t make any; these only served to remind her of her lack of sleep. She yawned and read it one more time. This time though, she didn’t just scan through the ending, she really _read_ it. And immediately panicked.

Erase, erase, erase! Her index finger furiously tapped the delete key. That sign-off was just _stupid_. If this was being monitored, she wouldn’t be arrested; she’d be _ridiculed_. What Alliance member saluted their commanding officer “ _With Love”_ ? She was an idiot, a sleep deprived one, sure, but an idiot. And most of all, insane. She had to be, having composed a message all but declaring her love for Shepard. And worst of all, it was so… _corny_. She held the delete key down until the receding marker had made the entire screen blank again. Sam sighed. At the moment, she wasn’t feeling like much of a specialist at communicating. The irony of her being unable to convey her feelings certainly wasn’t lost on her. She had figured writing a letter would give her time and peace of mind to properly explain herself to the Commander, but now she had been composing messages nearly every night of the past week, and she still hadn’t hit _Send_. It always ended with an empty field and Sam in bed but unable to sleep.

How had Liara done it? Sam had learned a great deal more about Shepard, and had been surprised to hear that the gossip held at least some truth: Shepard and Liara _had_ had a thing. A fling, or whatever it had been. That’s how she first realised she really felt something – Sam had been _jealous_ . Samantha Traynor, jealous, _really_? She hadn’t seen that coming. Liara was living on the ship too, practically in her own apartment that only allowed Shepard entry, and the two did talk in private. Fairly often, even. Whenever Sam saw them together, she felt that stab somewhere behind her navel, imagining one simply leaning over and kissing the other. Every time Shepard left Liara’s room, Sam would try to examine her facial expression and draw conclusions. But the Commander’s face was like stone. Anything could be going on behind those doors. That was even more dreadful than eavesdropping on the Commander’s comms during shootouts.

She hadn’t spoken to Liara once since she had interrupted her and Shepard’s conversation either, and wasn’t about to change that.

Eventually, to her great relief and joy, Sam found out that it apparently was over between them. And had been, for some time, too. Some among the crew were such gossip-mongers, and she didn’t understand how they found everything out. Sam would have loved to know how it had started between the asari and the Commander, but she didn’t dare ask anyone. What if they found out that it wasn’t just gossip, that she just wanted pointers? Though, if the attraction had been about the blue skin, Sam was entirely screwed.

She was pretty sure there wasn't any blue paint aboard the ship.

No, a letter wouldn't do, she would have to do this in person. Though preferably, not in front of the whole crew. But how to get Shepard alone? Not by her workstation, that much was certain. It would be so typical of Sam, revealing her heart’s secret only to be interrupted by Joker over comms. Or worse, overheard by Ashley or Allers passing by. She shuddered at the thought.

She moved to the subject line. She would have to play this smart, and Sam had learned that being strategic meant playing your strengths. And there was one thing Sam was really, really good at. Chess. Shepard had laughed in surprise when Sam had told her.

She started writing again.

 

 

> _Game night?_

 

***

 

Sam’s eyes looked down at her feet as she climbed the steps up to the altar, the mere thought of tripping now was mortifying. She concentrated so hard on managing that task that once it was completed, she simply stood there for a moment, frozen to the top step. With Shepard straight in front of her.

Well, not really. The steel coffin was empty; despite the Alliance’s best efforts, Shepard’s remains had not yet been found. She was officially a part of the hundreds of thousands counted as missing in action, but even Samantha knew hope was all but extinguished. It had been months since the counter-attack which had defeated the Reapers. Anyone who had gone missing in the rubble beneath the fighting and not yet appeared would never do so.

Instead, she was staring at a black-and-white photo of Shepard. It was a horrible choice, but apparently it had been some time since it was taken. The lack of colour made it look half a stranger: Sam’s Shepard had green eyes and red hair. This one didn’t.

Sam had to swallow.

She realised she was clenching her fist again and when she loosened her grip, she felt how the stalk of the rose had snapped. It still clung together by a thin thread of cellulose fibres.

While she examined the photo, Ashley pushed past her to approach the coffin, and placed herself on the opposite side. Liara followed, and once Garrus gave Sam a small nudge, she moved too. Joker followed suit with his trademark limp. The survivors of the Normandy were all gathered for the first time since the liberation of Earth, and here they stood, surrounding the empty coffin that was playing the part of their dead commander.

Ashley, the second ever, and now sole, human SPECTRE had been given clearance to say a few words, some of which were “courage”, “honour”, “incredible strength” and “the greatest sacrifice”. Ashley was a better soldier than speaker, Sam assumed. She examined the details on the metallic edges of the coffin too closely to really pay her speech any mind. It really wasn't captivating.

After her, Garrus stepped forward and said some things meant to help thaw official human-turian relations, as well as mend interspecies relations all around. He did shoot a glance back at Sam, though. Despite still having difficulties reading his face, she understood the gesture. He was kind.

Taking turns, they all paid their respects, going from highest rank to lowest. And while Sam had played an important, nearly indispensable role on the Normandy, as a former lab rat, in military terms she would have only barely ranked higher than an actual rat had one snuck aboard. Which meant she would be the last to leave the coffin. She watched them each lay down their flowers and mutter some farewell before walking back down the steps again.

Sam held her all-but-snapped rose before her and, observing the coffin, tried to whisper something. But nothing came. She was choking. With a trembling hand, she put the rose down on it. What would she have said, even if she could say something?

 _Goodbye_ ? That would make no difference, she had already said that in her mind, and in London. Besides, what kind of _goodbye_ would it be if it went unanswered? She wanted to talk to _Shepard_ , not herself. But she would never talk to Shepard again.

Never.

 _Ever_.

Not if she lived through a thousand years of peace in this new galaxy.

The thought was vertigo-inducing and asphyxiating at the same time. The edge of her eyes grew damp and Sam blinked to maintain vision.

The eternal _no._

She could have lived with not seeing Shepard ever again. It wasn’t like that ugly thought hadn’t graced her mind before. But she would have given _anything_ for the knowledge that Shepard was alive, somewhere. And much more for a chance to speak with her. Even just once. Anything. Now, the complete and empty loneliness of her continued existence unveiled itself before her.

Sam had never been a very spiritual person, which was perhaps why she didn’t get along so well with Ashley, but suddenly, her beliefs seemed very attractive. The woman honestly thought she would see Shepard again. In some _afterlife_. It all seemed so simple, so quaint. Surely, with everything humans knew by now, no one could claim to-

Her jaws clenched as she forced herself to abandon the thought. She wouldn't let Ashley get to her, not now.

Suddenly in a logical state of mind, Sam briefly wondered whether knowledge of floriography was common enough that anyone would notice she had placed a dark red rose on the surface of the coffin rather than a plain white one, as the others had. It had been her little retaliation at the Alliance, her way of defying them. Though highly unlikely, perhaps her turian friends, stranded on Earth, were watching the broadcast? Assuming they had survived, naturally. She wondered whether any of them would remember what she had explained about roses of that colour. The reputation for having a brash nature that humans had earned might one day be recognised as a crucial component in winning the war, but Sam still doubted that any alien species would do anything but laugh at the notion that the overly hasty and often aggressive humans once could communicate simply by sending flowers. Any humans watching would, quite frankly, probably not give a damn about the plants, even if they against all odds did get it.

Sam did, though. She gave a damn, and she knew the meaning. She felt the tears that were pouring down her cheeks now and spilling onto the uniform, and from one moment to the next, she sensed all the tension and anxiety leave her smoothly. She'd let it go. There was no point in holding back any longer. The knot in her throat made breathing difficult.

_Never ever._

Saving the galaxy had cost Shepard’s life, and here Sam was, seriously questioning whether it had been worth it. Wondering if someone would let her stay behind in the uncertainty of the war that had just ended.

Her hand, now resting idly by her side, found its way to her pocket and brought out a small, white, wooden figurine. This one they wouldn’t know the meaning of though. Another small protest on Sam’s part. She was lingering now, alone by the coffin, but no one would interrupt her. It would ruin appearances. The vidcams would relay this on, to those outside, for whatever that was worth. Perhaps they’d see the symbolism in a queen’s sacrifice if they knew anything about chess, but what it truly _meant_ , well, that was something only Sam knew.

 

***

 

They were finally going home. Earth had been waiting, but would not hold out much longer.

Sam had surprised the entire crew by tracking Kai Leng’s shuttle, thus revealing his destination, and with it, Cerberus’ headquarters. With the antipathy the enemy operative had generated onboard, Sam was heartily congratulated by everyone for her quick thinking. Shepherd had claimed she wasn't surprised, but Sam basked in the knowledge that she had truly impressed her commander. That, more than anything expressed by the rest of the crew, had made her heart flutter.

Once Cerberus had been decapitated to prevent the organisation from interfering any further, there was only one objective left: Go home and save Earth. And hopefully as a consequence, the galaxy.

Sam had found herself heading up to Shepard’s cabin, and not only to use the limitless hot water available in the Commander’s private shower one last time. Although, that and what she really was after needn’t be mutually exclusive. With only one last night remaining before they would be in the thick of it, Sam figured she didn’t really have anything to fear other than regrets. So she had made sure no one saw, and snuck in.

She had found Shepard a different person. She had been restless, exhausted and most unsettling of all, full of self-doubt. Sam had never imagined seeing her in such a state, but empathised; truly, it was a miracle the Commander had held it together for so long. She suspected the glue was all duty and adrenaline. To be completely honest, Sam had been surprised that Shepard hadn’t exhibited any signs of PTSD before, after all she had witnessed and experienced, from the thresher maws killing her first squadmates on Akuze to seeing crew members dissolve into liquid in uncharted territories of space. So Sam did her best to take Shepard’s mind off those things. She had tried to offer her support, and, in the process, embarrassed herself by letting slip that she dreamed of a house with a white picket fence and two kids. At first, she pathetically tried playing it off as a silly jest, but when Shepard voiced her approval, Sam just rambled on with her wishlist while combing her fingers through Shepard’s smooth, copper hair. At least it was making Shepard laugh and relax. _She_ was making Shepard laugh and relax. They’d dreamt up childish plans together about what to name their dog and where on Earth they should settle (Shepard found Sam’s accent sexy and voted England, Sam vetoed that saying she didn’t want competition) and the next thing Sam knew, Shepard woke her up by jolting upright from another one of her nightmares.

A much too short moment later, EDI called everyone to their stations via the emergency speaker system. They were just a few hours from Earth, and needed to be prepared for anything. Sam did get a final kiss by the door, resting her forehead against Shepard’s and receiving a smile. Sam offered an “I love you” in return before heading down to her post, jittery as a schoolgirl for two completely different reasons. She had thought she had been in love before, but she realised now that she really hadn’t. At least, she had never before felt both so elated and so completely terrified at the same time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read all this way, then you have my sincerest thanks!
> 
> This story has been floating around and growing in my head ever since I finished the trilogy, back in November 2013. That's ages ago! I'm very happy I finally got around to writing this. 
> 
> I realise it might be a slightly strange fic, but it's something I wanted to write just for me - there were just so many thoughts I had after the ending of ME3, and I needed to do something with them. It became this. Then I figured I might as well put it on here, in case anyone else likes this pairing.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, it was probably mostly due to Bioware’s creation. And if it was coherent and decipherable, it’s all thanks to my beta reader. I’m very thankful for both.
> 
> Finally, if you feel like commenting on something, correcting a typo, giving a suggestion or saying anything at all, I’d love to hear it!
> 
> All the best!


End file.
